A Certain Slant of Light
by anonymouth
Summary: In the aftermath of The Battle, Hermione stumbles across something that she never expected to see. Hurt, angry and confused, she turns her back on the castle and its venerable Headmistress. Years later, tasked with inspecting the school's performance as part of her ministerial role, the barely buried feelings of betrayal boil, and resentments and resolutions unfold...
1. Chapter 1

This story is borne from a prompt posted in the HG/MM Facebook group an absolute age ago, by Sela McGrane. The prompt was a picture and the following info (I will post the picture - credit to Sela McGrane - if/ when my computer stops being a cock):

 _During the Battle of Hogwarts, Minerva does something which Hermione does not think she could forgive. This can be anything except the typical "Hermione is rejected by Minerva". At the point of the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione simply has great respect for her mentor. Years later - I'd say at least five, though could be as much as twenty-five - Hermione, who now works for the Ministry and is on the Educational Board, is sent to Hogwarts to evaluate if Minerva, the Headmistress, is adequately running the school. Minerva is rather peeved at the Ministry interfering, and less than pleased when she discovers that it is her once favourite pupil, with whom she had a falling out, that is sent to evaluate her. Heads butt as Hermione tries (and fails) to find flaws in Minerva's methods of running Hogwarts, and eventually there is a confrontation in which they talk about what happened to end their good relationship. After that, it's only a matter of time before they realise that the feud only hurt as much as it did because there were more than friendly feelings brewing back then, even if neither of them realized it. What will they do about it now?_

So... yeah. At least a year later, and so it goes...  
-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-

Hermione wandered out of the Great Hall, her footsteps reflecting the numbness that her brain was emanating. She needed to get away; away from the constant crying, the sobs, the deathly silence surrounding some. Harry felt the same, she knew. She had covered for him when he had slipped away, not asking where he was going, just understanding that he needed time to absorb, to begin to come to terms with the events of the last few hours. She understood, even if she couldn't know exactly what he was going through. They were part of the Weasley's family now, of course she knew this, but it was different, seeing them all there, huddled around Fred's body, holding each other. They had grown up together, built their family together; she – and Harry, she supposed – needed to deal with their own feelings before becoming embroiled in their adopted family's.

She nodded to Madame Pomfrey on her way out – the matron had looked as though she were about to approach Hermione, but a small hand on her shoulder had stopped her from rising. Hermione was grateful to Professor Flitwick for the intervention. She swiped at the small amount of blood gathering on her brow as she continued walking through the rubble, dismissing the small gash. People had suffered worse. She headed towards the entrance doors, intent on some fresher air, when a noise to her left caught her attention. She froze, trembling hand reaching towards her pocket as a million thoughts raced through her mind in a single second. That room, off to the side, was where they had put the bodies of the Death Eaters, of all Voldemort's followers. Voldemort himself. Her jaw clenched of its own volition as she took a step towards the open doors, steeling herself for another confrontation, not sure if she had enough stamina left to keep her upright, let alone enough to fight.  
Hermione took a hesitant step through the doorway, trying to ignore the smell of blood and death and convincing herself that the room wasn't exuding hatred. Her eyes scanned the immediate vicinity, and seeing nothing untoward she took another step. The sound pricked her ears again, and she immediately turned towards its source. A gasp tore from her throat, and her wand clattered to the floor, forgotten, as she took in the scene before her.

Minerva McGonagall's head snapped up as the sound of the wand hitting the slate floor reverberated around the room. A part of Hermione's mind – the part that wasn't reeling from what she was seeing – was shocked at how dishevelled the always-composed Professor looked, at how she scrambled to her feet, her bun flopping with the movement, but it was overrun by the part that was witnessing Minerva McGonagall, her beloved Professor, Mentor, Leader of Light, cradling the head of Bellatrix Lestrange, one hand gently laid on her chest atop a black rose, her face almost buried in the manic locks.

"NO!" A strangled cry.  
"Hermione-" Minerva reached out, once she had found her footing, her face etched in pain and worry. But Hermione had already stumbled backwards, out of the room and into the corridor. Before Minerva could move any further, Hermione had run.

Minerva followed Hermione's scent, a task not made any easier by the amount of smells mingling within the castle at the moment. Minerva had been momentarily surprised that Hermione hadn't bolted straight outside, but nevertheless had followed the trail until she came to a halt in front of the Headmaster's – hers, she corrected, absently – office. Ignoring the moans of the partially smashed gargoyle, she picked her way up the stairs that were just visible, grateful that it seemed as though this room had remained unsullied by the dark magic that had tried its best to permeate the castle. Hermione whirled to face her as soon as she fully entered the office, fists clenched by her sides, face beet red, adrenalin obviously coursing through her body. Minerva came to a stop, noting quickly Hermione's position underneath Albus' portrait, and also that he was still, blessedly, asleep.

"I… I came here for help…"

Minerva knew why Hermione had run to the office: sanctuary. Someone to sort out the problem. Someone who could provide answers. For a moment, Hermione looked helplessly lost, and Minerva's heart ached for her: Never before had the school failed to provide solace for the younger woman. However, Hermione soon remembered who she was talking to and she put more distance between them, her hand fishing in her pocket. Minerva held out her own hand.

"You dropped it," she said, moving closer to Hermione and holding her hand out. Hermione eyed her cautiously before moving forward to grab her wand and promptly taking a few steps back again, pointing her wand towards Minerva.

"Were you ever taught that you shouldn't point your wand at someone in anger… Unless you have a genuine reason, of course?" Minerva enquired, trying to catch her breath.

"Yes," Hermione answered evenly, though her arm shook. Minerva nodded.

"Very well. Hermione, what you think you saw-"

She was cut off by Hermione's bitter laugh.

"What I _think_ I saw?! Please, then, _Professor_ -" Hermione made it sound as though she almost choked on the word, and Minerva flinched. "-pray tell, exactly what was it I _actually_ saw?"

Minerva sighed, pushing loose strands of hair away from her face.

"It wasn't what you think. You wouldn't understand," Minerva stalled, wondering where to begin, and more to the point, how to end this conversation with a quick, positive outcome. Her head throbbed, and her chest felt as though it was on fire. She suspected broken ribs, and a warmth spreading down her leg was a definite sign of an open wound.

"Then explain!" Hermione shrieked. "And quickly."

Minerva's hand fell to her hip, where she had located the source of the bleeding.

"Not everything is black and white. Especially in times like this. Look at Severus Snape."

Hermione blinked, disbelieving.

"Are you trying to tell me that Bellatrix Lestrange is some kind of hero now?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything. Please, Hermione, just for the moment, can you trust me, trust your faith in me? You're raw, I'm weary: can we revisit this tomorrow?"

Hermione backed away. "You're weary? Not weary enough to bypass a visit to the Death Eater morgue. To forego cosying up to the body of a certifiable lunatic! What the fuck, Professor?! What, is she your… _friend_?!" Hermione spat.

Minerva flinched, whether from pain or shock or guilt, Hermione didn't care.

"I can't explain. Not right now. I just need you to trust me. It's not what you think."

Hermione violently shook her head and her wand hand.

"That… that woman tortured me. That woman, who's hair you were stroking, into whose ear you whispered sweet nothings, she bound me on the floor of Malfoy Manor and tortured me."

Minerva paled.

"Hermione, I…"

"No!" Hermione screeched. "You don't want to explain, remember?! Or are you going to offer excuses for her now? Things aren't always as they seem?" Hermione laughed bitterly as she tugged her jacket sleeve upwards, revealing a bloody mess to Minerva, the word 'Mudblood' prominent, sealed as it was with Black magic.

"How does this _seem_ to you, _Minerva_?"  
The hammering of her heart was all Hermione could hear as she watched Minerva's face crumple. Minerva reached out to Hermione's arm, but Hermione pulled away, yanking her sleeve down.

"Don't come anywhere near me," Hermione's voice was the lowest and coldest that either woman had ever heard. Minerva stopped dead. "I should go to the Aurors."

Minerva momentarily closed her eyes. She could feel her strength waning.

"And tell them what, Hermione? I protected the school, protected the students…" _Protected you_ remained unspoken, though heavily implied in the glare that Minerva pinned Hermione with. "I have done nothing wrong."

"Well there's obviously something that you're hiding!" Sparks flew from the end of Hermione's wand as her emotions became barely containable. Minerva tried to breathe evenly, her chest feeling tighter by the minute. She needed respite, before the pain racking her body made her responses something she would regret.

"What you witnessed… What you witnessed was something I need not justify. Whatever is going through your mind right now is pure conjecture based on your rage. You are not in possession of the full facts. Nor will you be at this moment. Now, you may go to the Aurors if you so wish. But I will not be seeing them until tomorrow, at the earliest. And even then, I shall still be Headmistress of what's left of this school, and I will have an insurmountable task to undertake in the rebuilding of bricks and mortar, and spirit. I'd rather not spend my time recounting my every insignificant action, when any investigation shall come to nothing."

Try as she might, Minerva couldn't help but stumble over the word 'insignificant', something that Hermione picked up on.

"You'd lie to them… like you're lying to me, now?" Hermione asked, incredulously.

Minerva set her jaw. "There are things that you, even you, will never know. Do not need to ever know. I am sorry you do not have enough faith left for me," She gave in, and steadied herself with a hand on the desk, her other hand moving to cup her ribs. "But leave it be; it'll only cause more heartache."

Hermione stared, her wand lowering as Minerva slumped further into herself.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Warning you," Minerva answered through gritted teeth. "I am sorry, truly sorry about what you have gone through; what all my students have gone through. But there has been nothing between Bellatrix and I that would have enabled me to change anything. I was merely… saying goodbye to someone I once knew. I would have explained… tomorrow."

Hermione searched Minerva's eyes for a long moment, trying to look past the pain she found there. Minerva eventually looked away. Hermione made her way to the door, stopping just close to Minerva.

"I'm sorry I trusted you."

Hermione's crackling magic ensured that the door slammed behind her. Minerva, for her part, wanted to follow, but her wounds ensured that after one step towards the door, she inadvertently cried out and crumpled in a helpless heap.


	2. Chapter 2

**_10 years later_**

Hermione clenched her jaw.

"Do I really have to stay there?" she asked, her hands also inadvertently balling into fists.

Kingsley nodded.

"Part of the terms of secondment is that the investigating officer resides at the address for the period of investigation to ensure that the investigation is thorough and that any disclosures can be obtained at any hour," he recited, as though weary of the words himself.

He looked at her apologetically, and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I am sorry that we need to do this. We both know that Hogwarts runs perfectly well without any interference, better than it ever has, in fact, with Minerva McGonagall in charge-"

Hermione snorted, causing Kingsley to furrow his brow. She bit down the bitterness that threatened to spill from her clenched jaw, her teeth clamping furiously.

"Yes, well. There's her, and the fact that Voldemort doesn't keep trying to murder students at the end of every school year. That also helps immensely."

Kingsley chuckled, and it was enough to make him overlook Hermione's queer response to hearing her one time mentor's name.

"Look on it as a holiday, of sorts. You always loved being at school, yes?"

Hermione nodded tightly.

"So, just enjoy being there and submit a report at the end of your tenure that's thorough and glowing enough to keep all happy until she retires."

Hermione nodded again. She had no choice, that she could see. Declining the role would severely hamper her progress at the ministry. Having worked through three successive internships, she had secured a contract working within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She held aspirations of slowly introducing and implementing changes, beginning through children's education and building up into Magical Law Enforcement, that would eventually lead to a complete renovation of how Wizarding society learned about and co-existed with underprivileged non-humans. She had initially jumped at the offered secondment to the Department of Magical Education, relishing the prospect of a new project to sink into and another opening to begin the process of overhauling Wizarding attitudes to other sentient beings. However, Kingsley had neglected to mention, until now, stalling her quill on the contract the exact terms of the contract, answering the question of why she was one of the very few to apply for the post. Most former Hogwartians would blanch at even the thought of having to evaluate Minerva McGonagall; Hermione herself wasn't even sure, now, if she wanted to go ahead with the job. She had, after all, adored the school, and the life it had opened up for her, and wasn't relishing creating stress for the staff she had great respect for. But if she were honest with herself, she would prefer it to be her that got to the bottom of any hidden truths surrounding the Headmistress than anyone else. She felt she deserved it. Not that Kingsley was expecting her to find anything amiss, but…

"Kingsley? Why now? I mean, has anyone raised any… issues? With… the Headmistress?"

Kingsley rolled his eyes. "The board of governors and the funding body of the Ministry that contributes to the continuing growth of the school just wish an independent evaluator to determine that the educational criteria is being adhered to, and that certain higher commanding roles are functioning adequately. It's been noted that, whilst the Ministry shouldn't interfere with the daily running of the school, there should be some feedback about its management, and a few people raised concerns that should the school run unchecked for much longer, we may have another Dumbledore episode. No one denies that the man was great," he continued hastily, holding up his hands as Hermione opened her mouth. "But what was agreed was that some of his… techniques were somewhat unorthodox, and that current and future staff members should know that there are other support networks in place, should they need it. No one has raised any specific concerns, this is just a general investigation."

Hermione swallowed, conflicted. A part of her was relieved. Kingsley was right, after all; she loved that school. More to the point, she had been fiercely devoted to… the Headmistress. The part of her that had festered since the day after The Battle, however, raged that still, there was no light being shed on the boiling questions inside her. That part of her resolved that she would be thorough; that she wouldn't _glow_ but dig and delve until she was satisfied.

She sighed in resignation, then banished the ink blots her hovering quill had made and decisively signed the contract. "When do I leave?"

* * *

"Anybody worth keeping an eye out for in the new batch?" Pomona asked as she helped herself to a large dollop of mashed potato. Filius shook his head as he levitated a couple of chicken drumsticks onto his plate, taking advantage of the last meal at which he could be lazy with his magic. There would be no time for a leisurely breakfast, preoccupied as they all would be in preparing themselves for the first day of the school year come tomorrow. "The usual, nothing extraordinary."  
"Let's hope it's a herald of the year to come. Some semblance of normality before the influx of Weasley's begins again," Minerva said, a small smile betraying the horror in her tone.  
Pomona laughed. "I daresay it's been too quiet these last few years,"  
"Arguably!" Poppy interjected, to a bout of laughter around the staff table.  
"The Ministry investigator will be arriving along with the students," Minerva said casually, carefully considering her meat. No less than ten pairs of eyes fixated on her.  
"The what?" Rolanda asked eventually, when it became clear that Minerva wouldn't be elaborating. Minerva placed her cutlery down to meet several astonished looks. "The Ministry is sending someone to draw up a report on the running of the school. It's a general investigation, no specific concerns," she repeated what had fast become Kingsley's mantra. "Everyone just wants assurance that we're churning out well-rounded individuals. Nothing to be concerned about. It'll not affect your routines in the slightest."  
The tone of Minerva's voice suggested that she would make sure of it, as opposed to that having been stipulated.  
"It's not going to be another bloody Umbridge, is it?" Rolanda asked. Sybill visibly paled.  
"No no. It's not a power trip by the Minister. He's merely appeasing the governors and certain departments. No Toad," she smiled conspiratorially, giving Sybill the smallest of winks when the woman grew back to her normal height.  
"So, who's it to be, then, any ideas?" Poppy asked. Minerva turned back to her plate.  
"Hermione Granger," she answered, at which most of the staff let out sighs of relief and returned to tucking into their meal.  
"Not so bad, then," Pomona said cheerfully. "And Longbottom'll be here come tomorrow, too. Good kids. How long's she here for?"  
"Until Christmas," Minerva responded. Too nonchalantly, and too quietly, Filius thought, studying his friend carefully, as Pomona "Ah, lovelied" her way into reminiscing. His brow furrowed. He hoped that he was merely imagining disquiet where there was none, though watching Minerva push food around her plate but not actually eating more than a forkful, he highly doubted it.

* * *

 **A/N: Things will start to flesh out shortly. Forgot to mention that the title is taken from the Emily Dickinson poem 'There's a certain Slant of Light' (320)  
I just liked the connotations and the metaphors it suggests.**

 **Thank you for the reviews. Sorry if I neglect to reply. All constructive criticisms gratefully received, on top of your wonderful words of encouragement.**


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione twisted and turned once more, studying herself in the battered mirror of her Hogsmeade room, until she could convince herself that she was acceptable.

"Right. Pull yourself together," she hissed violently at her reflection. She smoothed her sticky hands over her business suit and took a deep breath. Catching sight of the bed behind her, her breath left her in a sigh. She fumbled in her sleeve for the pocket that concealed her wand and set to rearranging, folding and re-packing the clothes she had dragged out of her case at 5.30 that morning. She had finally settled on the outfit she had originally laid out for herself – as per her usual organised way – the previous evening.  
She had arrived at her room above The Three Broomsticks early yesterday evening, using the side entrance to avoid being blindsided by any Hogwarts staff encounters should they be enjoying a last meal of freedom, or a Sunday pick-me-up/ drowning of sorrows before the new term began.  
Unpacking her overnight bag, she had smoothed out and hanged the plain white shirt, pinstripe jacket and matching trousers, and set the sturdy, flat ankle boots underneath. She had planned to be awake early anyway, to arrive at Hogwarts a couple of hours before the students, but 5am had found her sat up in bed trying to calm her hammering heart, and then scrambling to un-shrink her suitcase, convinced that she had absolutely nothing appropriate to wear. She had divested her case of practically every garment she had packed, things getting thrown more and more haphazardly onto the bed as she became more panicked, until she'd wailed in despair and taken herself off to the shower. Upon returning, marginally calmer, she had debated further between traditional robes over a plain black dress and her everyday business suit, ultimately deciding that, until she knew the lay of the land, the robes were just too presumptive of her belonging at the school: She hadn't been back since the aftermath of the battle, and now she was there, after all, to investigate the staff and the system; she didn't want them to see Hermione Granger the student, and she didn't want to give herself extra cause to regress to that, either. SO she slipped into her suit, gliding her wand over the creases that her frantic on-off-on again had caused, and set about her make-up.  
She spent another large portion of an hour applying, smudging, removing, re-applying her make-up, worried about overdoing it, then about not applying enough to seal her mask of confidence. Eventually, with a natural look accentuating her deep brown eyes, and a light gloss of colour on her lips, she deemed herself acceptable with a final pat of her rather severe bun.  
Re-shrinking her case, she wrapped her heavy, cloak-like black coat about herself, fastening each button and tying it tight about the middle, preempting the burgeoning chill of Autumn, and quietly vacated via the side alley.

* * *

Minerva rolled her eyes at herself and frowned. She was well-versed in her morning ritual, had been accomplishing it perfectly well for the entirety of her teaching career: Every first day of term, she rose at six am, took a mug of tea in her bed whilst her rooms heated, glossed over _Tranfiguration Today_ and then took her time showering, knowing that term-time responsibilities and children's extra-curricular activities would make it nigh on impossible to luxuriate.  
She performed the same routine at her bathroom mirror – hair pulled back and fastened magically, a light touch of colour to her cheeks (a relic left from her muggle grandmother, who coveted rouge as though it were a glamour) and some balm on her lips – then dressed in her simple undergarments, dress and teaching robe. She slipped into her boots and laced them wandlessly.  
Everything like always.  
It was inexplicable to her, then, why she was still stood in front of the ancient free-standing mirror in her bedroom, wiggling her hat; wondering if her boots were polished enough; if she should have gone for the robes with the gold fastenings; if her lips needed a little… something? She frowned again rather forcefully, then stepped back in shock when the mirror seemingly echoed her inner sigh, stretched out feet from its rounded floor supports, and shuffled around until it had its back to her.  
"Well," she sniffed, after momentarily staring at the brass frame. Its feet retreated back into its supports, and it settled down with a rather final sounding grunt. "Ridiculous," she muttered, and with a final brush of hands down her robes, she marched out of her rooms.

* * *

Minerva entered the staff room and offered a relaxed nod to the staff gathered there. The elves, as always, had put on a selection of breakfast items, so Minerva waited a few minutes, sipping at a mug of tea, for the rest of the staff to arrive and plate up, before clearing her throat. The chatter died away, and with a stern "hush" directed at the portraits that had gathered inside _The Feast of Finglehurst the Fortunate,_ Minerva started the academic year.  
"I know you are all prepared, so I won't keep you long. Just a few reminders, as usual. Whilst the first years are gathered in the entrance hall, prefects will be allocated their passwords. Mr Filch is going to ensure that all guardian portraits remain in their frames until every student is within," she paused while a few people snorted. A new painting installed on the lower floors last year had caused chaos on the first night, with the majority of portraits leaving there frames 'for a nose' and ending up overindulging in everything and unable to find their way back to their frames; first year students that had managed to lose their prefects ended up wandering around tearfully, and had to be herded back to the Great Hall until Minerva could restore some semblance of order. Delegation, she thought grimly, was sometimes a waste of time, though she would have thought that anyone with an ounce of sense wouldn't have agreed to house a painting where the artist had managed to so vividly capture the opulence and spirit of a Roman orgy, within the walls of a school where the portraits were always on the look out for something to liven up their time. She shook her head.  
"Usual order applies to the rest of the day. Extra night rounds have been allocated just for this first week, however if anyone needs to shuffle around, that's fine as long as the shift is covered. Any questions?"  
There were a few shaking heads.  
"Ok," Minerva breathed deeply through her nose. "The investigator's arrival is imminent." At the sea of blank faces, she repressed a sigh. "Miss Hermione Granger," she clarified, and found herself being beamed at from all directions. Only Filius noticed the way that her jaw clenched, the slight wince that crossed her features as she said Hermione's name, and the tightness betraying her smile. "We must remember," she continued, "that as much as we have a fondness for Hermione, and even though she is a former student, she is still here on official business. It is part of the terms of her job to evaluate individual staff performances as well as the overall curriculum, protocols and the general running of the school. The ministry wants to be assured that Hogwarts is churning out well-rounded individuals," her smile relaxed at the chuckles that greeted this disdain-laden remark. "And we all know that Miss Granger is nothing if not thoroughly efficient. Friendly but professional is the best approach for all concerned. Stick to your lesson plans, and try to keep any permanently disfiguring mishaps to a minimum, please. Thank you, everyone. Battle stations!"  
The chatter steadily grew as the staff finished off their breakfasts and filed out of the room. Minerva exchanged pleasantries with a few people that had been abroad all summer, before she stepped out of the room and into line with Filius as they headed towards the Entrance Hall. After a few hundred yards of silence, Minerva glanced down.  
"Something on your mind, Filius?" she enquired softly. Filius weighed his words, deciding that he couldn't invest too much in them yet, not until he had more than slipped facial guards to invest in them. He shook his head.  
"Merely wondering what lays ahead with regards to our erstwhile Investigator."  
Minerva never faltered in her step or breath.  
"Erstwhile?" she questioned.  
"Well," Filius continued, schooling his entire being into nonchalance. "One could say that Miss Granger, ever since the year of the battle, has studiously avoided any visits to Hogwarts, any Hogwarts-related engagement that she wasn't officially compelled to. And we all know how studious she is. Hence, erstwhile."  
Minerva scoffed, but it took her a moment. "She's a busy woman."  
Filius nodded. "Ah. And her decision to complete her NEWTs at Beauxbatons was…"  
Minerva stopped mid stride to pin him with a look. "Perhaps it was better suited to her busy-ness."  
Filius, deciding now that he'd at least been partially discovered fishing, pinned Minerva with a look equally sternly weighted. Minerva's lips pinched, but she deigned to answer.  
"We had just been through a war that she survived with wit and sheer dumb luck. She had a tortuous time here, the place is probably full of terrifying memories, but she wanted to continue her studies. And we all know how studious she is." She raised her brow, and Filius gave in, shrugging his shoulders and starting to walk again.  
"Well then, we can only hope that whilst she's here, she can finally move past, past terrors. She's finally made it through the gate, so it's a start."  
The Entrance Hall doors yawned open. Minerva steadied her heart against the erratic beating the approaching figure had evoked.  
"I've lived on hope for this long," she muttered, steeling her nerve.

* * *

Hermione gritted her teeth. She held out her hand, but the tremor she found there caused her to stop short of actually touching the gate.  
"For God's sake," she muttered, stopping short of running her hand through her pulled back hair. She took a deep breath and darted her hand out to touch the gate before she could stop and think, again. The gates slowly began to open, but it took another few minutes of pacing before she made it through, striding determinedly, eyes on her feet. At the first rounding of the path, she stopped and finally looked up. The first view of Hogwarts usually took her breath away, but this time, she struggled to regain it, to bring it back to normal. She could hear the laughter, almost feel the jostling arms of her friends as they wandered the path. She became lost in memories, in feelings: Green everywhere; lush green; astute green; following; mesmerising.

" _Miss Granger._ "

The voice jolted Hermione. She looked around, startled, but found nothing or no one. Shaking her head free of ghosts, she steeled herself and set off on the last leg towards the castle.  
The doors started to open just as she approached them. She sighed inwardly, regretting not having the time to pace and gather herself again, but firmly plastered her politely detached mask on her face as the Headmistress and her deputy appeared in the doorway.  
As soon as she met Minerva's eyes, her feet refused to carry her any further. Minerva, it seemed, was suffering a similar affliction. Filius stepped forward, sensing that they'd still be standing there letting first years file past them should he not.  
"Miss Granger," he greeted warmly, extending his hand and breaking whatever was going on between the two women's eyes. Hermione blinked and finally entered the castle, taking his hands between hers.  
"Professor Flitwick," she smiled. She straightened from her slight stoop, and forced herself to meet Minerva's eyes again, swallowing against the emotions churning in her stomach. "Headmistress," her tongue refused to wrap itself around the 'good to see you' that floated around her brain, so she waited expectantly. Minerva cleared her throat discreetly, her professionalism slamming back into place.  
"Miss Granger. Good to have you here, although I'll admit it would be nicer under different circumstances." They nodded at each other, neither moving to otherwise physically greet each other. "Your rooms have already been prepared. There's some time for you to acquaint yourself with them before introducing you to the staff, if you so wish?"  
Hermione nodded.  
"I will see you back here in half an hour, then, Miss Granger," Filius picked up the conversation. "You'll have fifteen minutes to mingle with the staff before we're overrun by students, at which point, I'm sorry to say, I won't see much of you – quite literally – as I'm now in charge of herding the first years."  
Hermione smirked at his little joke, and he winked.  
"It is very good to have you back here, Miss Granger," he held her hand briefly, then headed toward the Great Hall. "Once more into the fray," Hermione heard him mutter, and her nerves momentarily melted away as she laughed out loud. Minerva smiled indulgently.  
"He loves it, really."  
"I doubt anyone lasts long if they don't," Hermione responded. Her smile waned as she abruptly remembered who she was talking to.  
"Indeed," Minerva's own sparkle dimmed as Hermione became distant once more. "Shall we?" She motioned to the staircase and they began to climb.

"The castle has already shifted to accommodate you," Minerva explained at the top of the marble staircase. When they continued along the corridor instead of climbing another staircase, Hermione's heart plummeted. Minerva took a deep breath. "Your rooms are next to mine. Like mine, the entrance is to your general office, and within there is an entry to your private rooms." They passed the entrance to Minerva's office, and stopped just next door.  
"Peachy," Hermione muttered. When Minerva scowled, she had the grace to blush.  
"It wasn't my choice, Hermione. _None_ of this was my choice." They entered the office before Hermione could respond. She was pleased to see a suitably furnished working room, with a large desk, two armchairs and a small table in front of a fireplace. Minerva tapped a portrait of a slumbering portly gentleman, whose elbow slipped off the desk. His head dropped and he woke with a massive snore, only to wave his hand, mumble and settle again. The portrait swung open. "Here's the entrance to your private rooms. It'll recognise your magic… You, err, might have to give him a tap on occasion." Hermione raised her eyebrows, amused despite herself.  
"As I said, none of this was my choice. The castle has set you up. I trust you don't need me to direct you around the other rooms?"  
Hermione shook her head. Minerva nodded tightly. "Very well. I'll meet you by the Entrance Hall in ten minutes."  
Before she reached the door, Hermione called out. "It wasn't mine, either."  
Minerva turned around, a questioning look on her face. Hermione sighed. "It wasn't my choice to be here, either. But they were going to send someone either way, and…" She lifted her head defiantly. "And I know I am thorough."  
Minerva sagged almost imperceptibly. Shortly, she nodded. "Twenty minutes, Miss Granger," she clipped sharply as she left, seeing no point in wasting her breath on words she wasn't sure she could form anyway.


End file.
